


Prelude to a Kiss

by Sugarhihihello



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Mutually Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarhihihello/pseuds/Sugarhihihello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Lavellan falling for each other, then finally smooching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude to a Kiss

Camlen Lavellan hadn’t fallen for someone in a long time. Not since he was a teenager. Every attempt at a relationship since then had ended so abruptly –

_You… what? Never?_

_I don’t know if I can be with someone I can’t fuck._

_Are you sure I can’t change your mind?_

_Have you tried seeing a healer? Maybe there’s something wrong._

_I’m sorry. I like you, but… he can offer me a_ _**real** _ _relationship._

– that he had tried to harden his heart to any affection that might kindle there. If he couldn’t, well, he’d just enjoy their company, their friendship, maybe some flirting, but he wouldn’t pursue the issue. It was too painful, and anyway, he had things to do. His clan had needed him, and now the Inquisition gave him plenty to worry about.

But still, he found himself standing by the bookshelves, talking to Dorian. Day after day after day.

Camlen was never one for reading. He’d rather be doing something physical, something _real_. He was intelligent, and enjoyed learning new things, but sitting and reading left him restless. There were easier – better – ways to experience the world.

But since meeting Dorian, he’d taken it up as a hobby. “Something to read while on the road,” he’d told Dorian. “Long watches in the camp. Longer rides across Thedas. I need something to keep myself busy.”

So the Tevinter mage had begun recommending books to him. History, fiction, lore. He’d even given Camlen a book on magic in order to try and understand the rifts. Camlen had barely made it through a few pages before chucking it into his pack in disgust.

Still, all the books were an excuse to stop by, to exchange one for another, to discuss. Camlen loved to watch Dorian’s mind at work, the way he artfully spun words around him just as easily as he cast spells in battle.

And when Dorian actually was in battle – _Creators_ , it was glorious. Dorian turned magic into an art form, a dance that he executed with elegance and far too many flourishes. All that grace was wrapped around an intensity, a white-hot fury that Dorian harnessed into precision, into fine arcs of lightning and the glitter of barriers that Camlen felt dusting his skin like a humming mist.

Camlen had never seen magic used in battle before joining the Inquisition. It was startling at first, strange and uncomfortable. He didn’t like so much fire whizzing past his head, ma’serannas. But Dorian’s magic was different than the other mages. It was playful, passionate, beautiful.

Much like Dorian himself.

Oh, Camlen was falling. Hard. He knew it, like he knew just what to say to make Dorian’s lips quirk in that small grin that tugged at the freckle under his eye. Falling the same way he was learning the lines of Dorian’s handwriting, both the sweeping curls of his written reports and the tight, hasty but neat letters of his notes in the margins of every book he lent him.

But Camlen wouldn’t hope for more. He’d revel in their moments together, sharing barbs across an open book, the moments when he could feel Dorian’s magic wrapping him tight, or when they shared a tent together on the road. Dorian shivered so hard, even under two thick blankets, and Camlen would wait until the man was asleep, then toss his own atop him. Camlen was used to colder weather than this, and he loved the softness on Dorian’s face as his muscles finally eased into the warmth.

No one had yet commented how Camlen always managed to take either Iron Bull – so large he required his own tent – or only women with him on his excursions when Dorian made one of the party. Decorum insisted the genders sleep separately, which was of endless amusement to the Inquisitor. He and Dorian were more of a danger to each other than to any of the ladies of their party – of _that_ he was fairly sure.

It was when Dorian slept that Camlen fell the hardest. The other man’s even breaths, his light snores. The Inquisitor was so aware of Dorian, of the space between them. Sometimes, when Dorian dreamed, small sparks would dance along his fingertips, casting flickering purple light on the inside of the tent.

Camlen refused to watch Dorian sleep. That was… creepy. He resolutely faced away from him, but it didn’t help the thoughts and feelings that kept him up too late, made him cranky the next morning, grouchy until Dorian’s voice, even grumpier than his own, would croak, “Morning,” and Camlen’s heart would make its own small, unbidden sparks.

 

\---

 

They’d been flirting for weeks, now. Dorian found it a pleasant way to pass the time while waiting for the world to end. It had surprised him, at first, how open Lavellan had been about it, but then again Dorian was in the Maker-forsaken south and there was a hole in the sky. Everything was different here.

The Inquisitor had yet to make a move, though. Not a _real_ move. He seemed content to gaze at Dorian, to smile at him when he thought the mage wasn’t looking.

The mage was _always_ looking.

Dorian had never been attracted to an elf before, but Camlen was… something else. Kind, earnest, and lithe as a whip crack, thin blade spinning through the air as he fought. He was fierce, but quiet, taking time to weigh his thoughts before making decisions.

And he bit the side of his thumbnail as he read, brow furrowed. It was clear he hadn’t done much reading before the Inquisition, but now he seemed unable to get enough.

 _Or maybe it’s you_. The thought slipped quietly into Dorian’s mind and he quickly banished it.

The Inquisitor sat on the floor, back leaning against the bookshelf, scowling at a book. Camlen’s hair was always messy, and he needed a haircut. Chocolate hair swiped to the side of his warm brown eyes, tanned skin with darker tanned lines of the marking on his face.

 _He would look good in gold,_ thought Dorian. _Or robin’s egg blue_.

 

\---

 

They argued about Tevinter and slavery and the People. Only sometimes did the words grow heated. Camlen thought he was bringing Dorian around to his way of thinking, however. Slavery was only a concept to Camlen, an injustice against his people that he understood in theory, but had never experienced. His clan had been remote enough that they were rarely bothered by slavers, and when they did, they were strong enough to make them think twice about attacking again.

“The evil Tevinter magister trying to steal your soul,” Dorian joked time and time again. He always did that – made sure Camlen was aware of the differences between them. Like if he didn’t, Camlen would blink and suddenly forget everything about him.

“I thought you weren’t a magister.”

The mage waved a hand. “Like that matters to anyone. They see what they want to see.”

Dorian was never still. Hands roaming books, writing notes, stroking the stubble on his jaw. He paced, gesticulated wildly. The only time Camlen ever saw him stop moving was after we had seen his father. He just stood there, looking out the window, all the fight out of him.

“I thought you were brave.” Camlen said it quietly. He admired Dorian, respected him, and… more. Dorian had to know his worth. All his throwing their differences in his face, his dancing over the line between friendship and keeping his distance – Dorian wanted to be close to someone, and also didn’t. _I could relate to that_. But Camlen wanted him to know he was there. A metaphorical hand outstretched.

“Are you alright?” _Fool question. Of course he wasn’t alright_.

Dorian left to drink – always with the drinking – and Camlen left to sit in his room, stare out his own window, and worry about the _evil Tevinter magister_ , about the tight bud of affection slowly opening in the Inquisitor’s chest, about how precious and fragile a thing a friendship was, and how easily it could go wrong.

 

\---

 

The raised heartbeat and hum of excitement in his veins, a warmth and fizz he had grown used to every time he was near the other man, was fluttering so loudly in his skull as he reached the top of the library steps that it took him several seconds to realize Dorian’s voice was raised.

Mother Giselle was kind, well-meaning, but wrong, and Camlen surprised himself with the vehemence with which he defended his friend.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are… intimate.”

 _Intimate_. “That’s not the worst assumption they could make.” Camlen’s lips twitched in a smile. He could feel the softness in his voice and he rushed to make it a joke, to banter with the mage like they always did, to hide his joy at the thought behind a layer of mocking laughter.

And somehow, suddenly, Dorian was kissing him.

If Dorian had been a clumsy kisser, ineffectual, it still would have lifted Camlen’s heart into his throat, left him breathless and aglow, but Dorian was _not_ a clumsy kisser. His kiss was an art form laced with emotion, pushing Camlen’s mouth open for access and running a quick tongue across his lower lip. Dorian drove every thought from him, every single word from his mind except Dorian _Dorian_ _ **Dorian**_.

When they parted, Camlen couldn’t move. His brain was fuzzy and his lips were trembling and he still didn’t open his eyes.

Dorian was speaking. Saying something witty, clever.

_How can he still be clever after that?_

“You know-“ Camlen cleared his throat, forced himself to open his eyes, to speak. _Pull yourself together_. “That made the rumors somewhat… true.”

The mage was pacing, all movement and not meeting his eyes. “Evidently. We might have to explore the full truth of them later. In _private_.”

The dark honey dripping off that last word – _shit_. Trepidation rose in Camlen like icy knives, clawing at all the heat and tender feelings there. Dorian had stepped back into his alcove, his back to the Inquisitor, effectively ending the moment, a tune humming low under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write a whole fic about Dorian and a demisexual homoromantic Lavellan. But it didn't work very well and I don't know why I couldn't make it work, but it just wasn't happening. So I decided to post what I had so it doesn't go to waste. 
> 
> I'm going to write a Dorian fic eventually.... but it won't be this. (Sorry Camlen!)
> 
> My dragon age tumblr - <http://andrastesass.tumblr.com>


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